Summary: No summaries of any type this time. Just read and enjoy. And my sincerest thanks to everyone for everything!
EPILOGUE
"Oh, Isabelle," Christine sighed in frustration as she watched her toddler run around the parlor, hiding behind furniture and giggling as her little head peaked around corners. "You must hold still for one moment!"
"Peek-a-boo!" Isabelle giggled and ran behind another chair.
Christine closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Isabelle, you know I cannot chase after you," she said as she opened her eyes. "Please come here and let me fix your hair."
"Why?" Isabelle wondered.
A beribboned floral wreath appeared in Christine's hands. "Because you get to play fairy princess this afternoon," she said, "and every princess needs a crown." Christine fought back the urge to smile triumphantly as Isabelle began to walk toward her. "You do want your crown, yes?"
"My crown," Isabelle repeated as she stopped by the chair where her mother was seated, holding out her hands.
"You must let me brush your hair first," Christine said as she placed the wreath beyond her daughter's reach.
A battle of wills ensued as Isabelle looked longingly at her "crown" and Christine looked at her daughter, a brush in her hand. Christine could see the active little mind behind Isabelle's blue eyes and knew just how stubborn her child could be; as the clock on the mantle chimed the half-hour, Christine also knew that time was growing short. She watched as Isabelle's bottom lip stuck out in a pout that was so similar to her father's and Christine knew she had won the battle.
"Thank you, my love," Christine said as Isabelle finally stood still, allowing Christine to run the brush through blonde curls that just reached the child's shoulders. "You have such pretty hair," Christine said as she put the brush down and kissed Isabelle's head.
"Crown, Maman!" Isabelle demanded.
Christine reached behind her, taking the "crown" off the back of the chair. She set it lightly upon Isabelle's head, tying ribbons into the curls so that it would not fall off. Christine was tempted to arrange the ribbons but decided to wait until they reached the chapel. Isabelle did not want to understand the meaning of the words "slow down" and Christine knew she would just have to wait to arrange the ribbons in a neat fashion. "I do not even know why I bothered to brush your hair," she sighed as she pushed herself up from the chair.
Isabelle grabbed her mother's hand. "Show, Papa!" she said and pulled her mother toward the closed parlor door.
"Yes. Let us go and show Papa," Christine agreed, allowing Isabelle to lead her. They walked through the parlor door and down the hallway toward the main foyer of Chagny. Christine placed both hands on her daughter's shoulders as they reached the corner, smiling at the face that turned up to look at her. "Be very quiet and let us surprise your father," Christine whispered.
Isabelle willingly understood the word "surprise" and smiled back at her mother.
Soon the sound of footsteps echoing off the marble floor could be heard coming down the hallway that led to the back of the chateau.
"Do you hear that?" Christine asked Isabelle.
"Papa?" Isabelle asked back.
Christine smiled and nodded. "Why do you not go and get Papa?" Christine took her hands from her daughter's shoulders. Isabelle immediately scampered off down the hallway and Christine stuck her head around the corner to watch.
"Papa! Papa! Papa!" Isabelle shouted at the top of her voice.
Christine bit back her tears as Raoul stopped in his walk down the hall and bent down, arms opening as Isabelle flung herself into them. Raoul straightened as he lifted Isabelle, kissing his daughter before Isabelle wrapped little arms about his neck and settled her head upon his shoulder. Christine sighed happily as she watched Raoul close his eyes and hug Isabelle close. It was during moments like this – with Isabelle – that the years and the anger and the fear melted away and Christine would catch a glimpse of the innocent boy her husband had once been. It was during these moments that she saw the little boy who rescued her scarf, the teenager she had disappointed by sending away. It was during moments like this that she remembered the innocent young man who had come into her dressing room that long ago night and had professed his love while the snow fell and Paris glittered at their feet. Christine was drawn from her reverie by the sound of a familiar voice speaking a name she had come to treasure.
"Where is your mother?" Raoul asked his daughter.
"Maman!" Isabelle screamed.
"Inside voice," Christine heard Raoul tell his daughter as she rounded the corner and began to walk down the hallway. She paused for a moment to reach behind her self and massage the small of her back.
"Maman slow," Isabelle stated the obvious.
"Maman has a reason," Raoul said. Christine could see his eyes twinkle as she approached, stopping by his side. Raoul settled his daughter into one arm and reached out to touch the swell beneath Christine's blue gown, laughing at the responding kick he received.
"Definitely a boy," Christine grimaced.
"Definitely?" Raoul asked, as he raised an eyebrow at his wife.
"We will know in about three months," Christine replied and reached in for a kiss.
"Kisses!" Isabelle screamed.
"Will she ever learn to talk in a normal tone?" Christine wondered as she drew back from the kiss, turning to smile at her first born.
Isabelle ignored her mother and turned to her father. "Kisses for baby!"
"Always happy to oblige my princess," Raoul laughed as he touched a hand to his lips before touching it lightly to his new child and then wrapping his arm about his wife's shoulders, drawing her close. Raoul kissed Christine's carefully coifed hair and whispered in her ear, "My family."
Christine settled her head upon Raoul's shoulder for a moment. "Always yours," she whispered before straightening. "We really should be going."
Raoul nodded. "Walk?" he asked Christine who nodded and then he looked at the child in his arms. "If we walk, will you behave?"
Isabelle tightened her arms about her father's neck and kissed his cheek. "Carry me," she said, at twenty-seven months old, she all ready knew how to get around her father. Raoul would not stand a chance, as she grew older.
It took but a few minutes to cross the greening lawns from chateau to the ancient family chapel. All around were signs that winter was gone and spring was arriving. Snowdrops and crocuses peeked their colorful heads out from the grass that had been buried during the cold winter months. Birds twittered in trees whose branches were covered with pale green buds. Among the newly green trees were splashes of color as dogwood and fruit trees began to blossom in white and pale pinks. Overhead the sun was shining brightly, bringing unseasonable warmth to the day as fluffy white clouds drifted along carried by a gentle breeze. Christine felt her hand being lightly squeezed and she turned to smile reassuringly at the man next to her as they approached the chapel whose doors were all ready opened for family and friends.
"I have one stop to make," Raoul said, as his eyes turned toward the stone crypt at the top of the small hill behind the chapel. He turned his attention to Isabelle. "I am going to put you down and I want you to take Maman's hand, yes?"
"Yes, Papa," Isabelle replied.
"That is my princess," Raoul said softly as he kissed his daughter before placing her down. He waited until Isabelle had taken her mother's hand before walking toward the crypt.
"Me go, too?" Isabelle wondered.
"Not this time," Christine answered her softly, resting her free hand atop her daughter's head. She watched as Raoul stopped before the door to the crypt, bowing his head in prayer, reaching out his hand to rest against the cool iron. Christine shook her head, chasing away the memories of a day when she had done the same thing.
"Why?" Isabelle wanted to know.
"Because in that place is a very special…" Christine knew she had to chose her words carefully. "In that place rests a very special spirit who once helped your Papa when no one else would."
Isabelle turned her head up to look at her mother. "Fairy?"
Christine looked at her daughter and nodded. "Yes," she replied as her gaze drifted to Raoul's "fairy bench" that still sat outside the crypt where Edouard Durant slept in eternal peace. "He was a very brave fairy prince." Christine offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the man who had offered a bit of kindness to her husband in the midst of a nightmare and died in his place. She thought of Edouard's family, their grief at his loss, their gratitude in sorrow that there was still some good in their son and brother. Christine thought of the trust fund that Philippe had set up for them, his way of repaying them for all that Edouard had done, and knew that Edouard's family would never want for anything ever again. Christine willed back the anger that simmered in the deepest part of her heart and found the strength to offer up a brief prayer for the souls of the two men who had been hung for their part in what had been done to Raoul. Yet there were two men for whom Christine would never be able to find the strength to pray – Nico, now locked in the darkest corner of an asylum, for his senseless cruelty, from which Raoul would bear scars until his dying day. The other man rested in a barely marked grave in an isolated corner of his family's ancestral estate and – as a single hand caressed Isabelle's head – Christine hoped that Xavier was burning in Hell. She was drawn from her reverie by a gentle touch on her cheek and looked to see Raoul smiling softly at her.
"None of that," he told her, as he shook his head. "Not today. Today is a day of celebration."
"Fairy princess, Maman!" Isabelle stated as she tugged at her mother's hand; she had been good for as long as a toddler could be expected.
"Then let us waste no more time," Christine laughed as Raoul took their daughter's other hand and they walked back to the chapel and into the front door. Christine turned her cheek for a kiss as they paused in the vestibule. "I will see you in a few moments," she told Raoul and smiled as he disappeared into the chapel. Christine began to arrange the ribbons in a fidgety Isabelle's hair when a she heard a voice from behind her.
"I suppose it is about time," the voice said with a huge sigh.
"It is long since past time," Christine said with a smile as she turned around, the smile softening. "You look beautiful, Monique." She watched as Monique looked down at the light purple gown that matched her eyes. Christine wanted to cry as she took note of all the new gray hair that softened Monique's black tresses; the woman before her had aged so much over the last two and a half years.
Monique raised her head. "I did not wish to overdo," she paused and swallowed, "considering the circumstances."
Christine looked at the gown whose elegant simplicity bespoke an expense that few could afford. "I think it is lovely and perfect." Christine smiled at Monique, hoping to chase away last minute fears, last minute doubts. "I think that Philippe will find it perfect." Her smile softened. "I think he will find you as lovely as he has always found you."
"Fairy princess!" Isabelle demanded.
"I think we have just been told," Monique laughed as she looked at Isabelle who was bouncing on her toes. She turned back to Christine. "Thank you for standing with me this day." Monique sighed and cast down her eyes. "After everything that…"
"Raoul told me there will be none of that on this day of celebration," Christine said as she reached out to take Monique's hand. "None," she repeated and let go of Monique's hand. "Now it is time to go and find your future."
Monique blushed and dropped her eyes. "Yes, please."
Isabelle began to jump up and down. "Fairy princess! Fairy princess!"
"Who must walk quietly next to her maman," Christine told her daughter.
Isabelle quieted down as she walked with her mother to the closed doors that led to the chapel. Christine opened them and began to walk down the aisle. A brief thought passed through her mind that this walk was so different from the last walk and yet Raoul still waited at the end of the aisle. Yet this time he was smiling as he stood next to his brother - Philippe's smile small and warm and confident. Christine took her eyes from her husband to look at the small group of people gathered at the front of the family chapel. She smiled at Didier and his new bride, Solange, only recently returned from their own honeymoon and ready to reopen Cote de Vallee. Henri stood next to them, near the aisle as he waited to take Isabelle from her mother's hands. It was a very small, very select group of people to whom Christine would entrust her daughter's care and the fun loving Henri was at the top of that list. His actions on that fateful night, that fact that he save Raoul's life, earned Henri her love and respect; even Philippe's incredulous temper had finally faded away.
As Christine reached the end of the aisle, Isabelle happily went into the open arms of her Uncle Henri, allowing Christine to step to the altar. As Monique finished her walk down the aisle, Christine turned to see Henri's parents in the pew behind were Philippe and Raoul stood. She smiled at them, seeing their hands clasped and turned to the couple next to them. Meg's smile was radiant as she returned the one Christine gave her and turned to look at her husband. Meg's hand caressed the little boy with brown hair held in his father's arms. Val sighed as he hugged Gregory close, taking Meg's hand, both of them knowing that after the ceremony Gregory and Isabelle would run off their energy until both toddlers fell fast asleep.
Finally Monique reached the altar railing, taking the hand that Philippe held out to her. Christine watched as Philippe raised that hand to his lips before turning his head to the priest who was dressed in white robes instead of black as he had been the last time. Standing next to the priest, serving as his assistant, a very proud smile on his face, stood Philippe's friend and aide, Arthur Weldon. Father Navarre Deveral turned to smile at Arthur before returning his attention to those looking expectantly at him. He smiled at the people in the front pews, at Christine and at Raoul before turning to the man and woman who only had eyes for each other.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here this day," Father Deveral began, "to join this man," he looked at Philippe and turned to Monique, "and this woman in Holy Matrimony." His words echoed joyously about the family chapel, joining lives that had been put on hold for over twenty years, finally putting to rest the histories that had brought everyone to the sunny chapel on that spring day.
And while the toddlers raced around after each and the adults celebrated into the night, long after the new Comte and Comtess had left for Spain and Portugal, the grandmother of one of the toddlers stretched and yawned. She gazed at the grandfather's clock that ticked peacefully in a corner of the huge living room.
"Tired, old friend?" Erik asked as he looked up from his latest composition.
"Yes," Antoinette replied as she rose from her seat. "And do not ever call me old again," she finished.
"I shall try not to forget," Erik replied, turning back to the music sheets on the piano, a smirk on his face that he knew Antoinette could not see.
"And take that smirk from your face," Antoinette told him.
Erik rested his arms atop the piano and placed his head upon them. "How do women do those things!" he exclaimed, his voice edgy, tired and frustrated.
Antoinette took pity upon him and walked over, placing her hands upon his shoulders. "It is a gift that is given with the birth of a child. Mothers must always have eyes in the back of their heads in order to keep their children out of trouble." She smiled as Erik looked at her over his shoulder. "You used to have those same eyes, you know. You knew everything that went on in the opera house."
"I, too, am getting old," Erik said as he swiveled on the piano bench, turning so that he could face Antoinette. "And yet it is Tallis who is sound asleep while we old people stay up with the night."
"She has reason to sleep," Antoinette reminded him gently, a frown creasing her features. "Are you expecting Serge and Ilse this year? It will be very hard if they come and bring their entire family with them."
Erik shook his head. "No, not this year; Tallis had a telegram from them late last week. Yet they say some of their family may come. Tallis' cousin, Moira has said she will take over the housekeeping duties should anyone come to the great house." He shook his head. "They have been very good to us," Erik finished softly, his thoughts drifting back over the last two years, the thanks – once again – rising in his breast.
Erik and Tallis had found peace at Trevinny's estate cottage. They were left to themselves for the entire year, save for the hot summer months when Serge and Ilse would arrive, family tagging along behind. Yet no one came to the cottage, save for Trevinny's master and mistress. Erik and Tallis were left to themselves, rebuilding the bridges that they had burned, truly discovering each other for the very first time. And Erik found a patron in Serge who discovered through his cousin, Val, the beauty that was capable of flowing from Erik's hands. As Erik's music began to be well received, Serge kept his peace about who it was that composed such beautiful creations. Serge would only say that the composer enjoyed his solitude and wished to remain anonymous. Yet Serge's patronage afforded Erik a chance to truly, forever and honestly leave his solitude behind him. Come August, it would be two years since Erik and Tallis stood before a priest in the gardens at Trevinny and joined their lives together as one. It had been a small gathering, witnessed only by the closest of family and friends but it represented a fresh start for them both. It was a chance for them to leave old dreams behind and create new ones together.
"You are quite fortunate that your wife has family so close by," Antoinette told Erik.
"And what of you?" Erik wondered as he lifted his head. "What word from Meg and Val?"
"None," Antoinette said and shrugged her shoulders. "I did not expect any. They were going to Chagny for the wedding and were planning to spend several weeks there, allowing Isabelle and Gregory to run rampant over the countryside." Antoinette chuckled at the image of her grandson being chased by a little girl.
"Children," Erik grumped. "Damnable noisy little things."
"Did you not know Christine was expecting again?" Antoinette wondered, knowing that Erik would never willingly voice his curiosity about his former angel.
Erik sighed and rose to his feet. "I am happy for her, then," he replied. "I hope she and her husband are surrounded by many children."
Antoinette stared at the man in front of her for a long moment. "I do believe you have finally grown up," she said softly.
"It happens to even the worst of us," Erik admitted, a half-smile curling his lips.
It took a moment but then Antoinette was laughing delightedly and taking Erik into her arms. "Even the worst of you," she repeated before drawing back. "I must really go to bed now for I have a feeling I shall need to up early."
"You will never know how grateful we are that you are here," Erik told her, placing a kiss upon Antoinette's cheek. "Good night and sleep well, my dear."
But sleep would be an elusive thing for Erik to find that night. He was snuggled under the soft wool blankets that had been a wedding present from Tallis' cousins, his wife wrapped in his arms, his latest composition playing through his dreams. Erik was between sleep and wakefulness, his thoughts telling him to remember the notes that danced in his mind when suddenly a loud jarring sound chased away the notes, startling him from his sleep. He looked around nervously, his eyes settling on the back of his wife's head, her brown hair tangled from tossing and turning. Erik placed a kiss on that head and carefully slipped his arms from about Tallis. He rolled over, his eyes never leaving his wife and got out of bed. Certain that Tallis had not awakened, Erik walked over to the hearth where a low fire glowed in the dark night. He looked down at the thing that had been disrupting his sleep for the last month.
"Now what is your problem?" Erik asked his son.
The baby only screwed up his little face and let out a shriek.
"Shh!" Erik ordered his son, placing a finger against the baby's lips. It did no good as the baby continued to cry. "Your mother certainly named you correctly, Gabriel – you have the voice of a trumpet!" Erik's foot reached out and the cradle began to rock slowly back and forth. As the baby stopped crying, Erik took a moment to look at his son.
Gabriel had a head full of dark hair and pale blue eyes that Erik was certain would turn to gray just like his mother's. The infant was long and had his father's hands. Erik thought that with any kind of luck, Gabriel would eventually eschew the trumpet he had been born with for the gentler sounds of the piano. Yet Erik's heart dropped a bit as he noticed the scarring just below his son's hairline that extended toward his ear. He had hoped and prayed for a perfect child but even that was denied him. Tallis did not seem to mind and had to constantly tell him that Gabriel's hair would eventually hide the deformity. Erik sighed and knew that his wife would lose her patience with him again if she could hear his thoughts. Erik was drawn back to reality as Gabriel started to fuss again.
"Will you be quiet!" Erik ordered the four-week old infant.
"Will you just pick him up and bring him over here," a tired voice ordered him.
"But he is doing that thing with his lips again!" Erik said as he turned toward the bed to see Tallis sitting up and wiping the sleep from her eyes.
"What thing?" Tallis wondered around a yawn.
"That thing," Erik said and moved his bottom lip in and out.
Tallis slammed her hands on the bed. "Oh for the love of God, Erik!" she exclaimed. "Your son is hungry again! Just pick him up and bring him to me."
Erik turned back to eye the little creature in the cradle warily. He heard a voice that was becomingly extremely agitated.
"Erik, if you do not pick Gabriel up this instant and bring him to me I swear you are going to be sleeping on the moors!" Tallis warned. "I do not want to listen to my child scream with hunger!"
"Damn noisy little thing," Erik said as he bent over and lifted his son from the cradle. Yet Erik felt a sense of power rush through him as Gabriel quieted down the instant he was in his father's arms. Erik carried his son to the bed and gratefully handed him into the waiting arms of his mother.
"Stop that," Tallis told him as she settled Gabriel at her breast, Erik sitting down at her side, eyeing his son.
"Those used to belong to me," Erik whispered at the baby who only had eyes for his mother.
Tallis smiled sweetly but kept her eyes locked with those of her son. "And if you do not stop acting like a jealous lover, they will never belong to you again." She turned briefly to look at her husband. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Tallis asked before turning back to her son.
"Annoying little interloper," Erik muttered.
"You still have a few more weeks to wait," Tallis said softly, a wicked grin crossing her face. "I can always ask the doctor to make it several more weeks after that."
Erik leaned toward his wife. "And I can make you wait longer than that," he whispered evilly but a hand reached out to caress his son's long legs.
"Erik," Tallis sighed. "Why must we do this every night? Why can you not just admit that you love your son?"
Soft, suckling noises were the only sound in the bedroom for a long moment.
"Because I am afraid," Erik admitted and sighed, still caressing the baby that his wife cradled. "I am afraid that I will not be a good father. I am afraid I will make horrible mistakes and Gabriel will turn out like me." His hand reached for the baby's head. "I am afraid of what the world will think of him." Erik took his hand back and hung his head. "I am afraid of what he will think of me."
Tallis detached her son, moving her shift closed and raising Gabriel to her shoulder, patting his back lightly. Then she turned to her husband and held out their child. "Take him," she ordered.
Erik frowned at her but took Gabriel in his arms. The baby yawned, his mouth opening wide, and stretched. Erik watched Gabriel's eyes look at him, studying him, as they slowly blinked closed.
"I have been around babies most of my life," Tallis began, placing a hand on her son's chest. "I know when a baby is uncomfortable around a person."
Erik turned toward Tallis, seeing her huge smile in the light from the hearth.
"Gabriel is so content when he is in your arms," Tallis told him. "All he wants is for you to love him and teach him and be his guide and wisdom in a world he cannot yet even begin to understand." Tallis rested her head upon Erik's shoulder. "And you and I shall learn from him. We will be able to watch the world through his eyes." She snuggled closer to her husband. "You shall be able to live the childhood you never had with your son."
Erik wrapped an arm about his wife.
"We have a whole new world before us," Tallis said softly, listening to the gently breathing of the two men she loved. "There is so much joy and so much love and all we have to do is reach out and grasp it and never let it go!" she finished.
Erik leaned over, seeking and finding his wife's lips. "I do love him," he whispered, "even if he does frighten me beyond words."
"My big brave Phantom," Tallis laughed softly. "I love you."
"And I love you," Erik said, another kiss finding his lips, before he turned back to admire and love his son.
The End